The wind howled across the ruins of Berlin.
Ash fell like snow, coating the broken streets in pale gray dust. Skyscrapers leaned at impossible angles, their steel frames half-melted, their shadows trembling with unnatural movement. The sky was a vortex of swirling violet and black — a wound bleeding across reality.
From the horizon, six figures emerged through the storm.
Arthur led the way, the Sword of Clarent glowing faintly in his hand. Behind him came Luna, Ryu, Ayo, Nikolai, and a quiet figure draped in a tattered cloak — Eira, the last surviving mage of Scandinavia, newly appointed to replace the fallen Zhao.
Each step they took echoed with defiance.
The corrupted air clawed at their skin, whispering in voices not meant for mortal ears. The Abyss was watching them.
Arthur raised a hand, signaling the group to stop. His gaze swept the desolate streets. "We're close," he said. "The readings are off the charts. This is where it began."
Ryu tapped the small device on his wrist — a mana stabilizer pulsing with blue light.
"His influence is stronger here. The closer we get, the harder it becomes to breathe. He's warping the air itself."
Ayo grunted. "Good. Means we're in the right place."
Luna frowned, clutching her staff tighter. "Don't be reckless, Ayo. One wrong move here and you'll become one of them."
She pointed ahead — to what had once been a group of civilians. Now they stood frozen, bodies half-merged into the walls of buildings, eyes glowing purple. Their mouths moved silently, as if whispering prayers to the darkness.
"Souls devoured, bodies recycled," Nikolai murmured. "He's turning them into conduits. Feeding the Abyss through human despair."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "Then we cut the connection."
He lifted Clarent high. The sword flared with divine energy, cutting through the darkness like sunlight breaking through clouds. A wave of golden light radiated outward — cleansing the corruption around them for just a moment.
The twisted figures screamed as they dissolved into dust.
But then, the ground trembled.
A shape rose from beneath the cracked asphalt — a monstrous entity made of shadow and bone, its body pulsing like a heart. Countless faces were etched into its skin, all screaming in agony.
Eira gasped. "By the gods…"
Arthur didn't hesitate. "Form up!"
The heroes spread out instantly, battle instincts taking over.
Ryu dashed forward first, his mechanical arm glowing blue as wind blades slashed through the monster's limbs. Each strike echoed with a sharp metallic hum, severing tendrils of darkness that tried to grasp him.
"Fast but fragile!" he shouted. "I'll keep it moving — someone hit its core!"
Luna's eyes glowed bright gold. She raised her staff, summoning a storm of radiant spheres that orbited her body. "On it!" she cried, unleashing a volley of light bolts that tore through the creature's torso, revealing a pulsing violet heart.
Ayo charged with a roar, his massive fists coated in spiritual fire. "Move!"
He slammed into the beast with earth-shattering force. The ground erupted, shockwaves rippling through the city as the monster howled.
Arthur followed, slicing downward with Clarent — the sacred blade cleaving straight through the creature's heart.
For a moment, silence.
Then, the entire beast exploded into black mist, disintegrating into the air.
The group stood panting amidst the wreckage.
Ryu wiped his blade clean. "If that was just a fragment…"
He looked toward the horizon, where the corrupted storm twisted violently. "…then the real thing is waiting for us in there."
Arthur nodded grimly. "Adrian's strong enough to manifest avatars now. He's testing us."
Luna lowered her staff. "Testing… or calling us closer."
---
Far away, in the Abyssal Citadel, Adrian stood atop a throne of obsidian. The air shimmered around him, thick with energy that bent light and time. His once-human body was now wrapped in living darkness, his eyes glowing with shifting colors — neither human nor divine.
He looked down at the reflection on the polished floor.
For a brief second, he saw his old self — the young hero who once fought beside Arthur, full of hope and conviction.
Then the image twisted, revealing the monster he had become.
"Arthur," he whispered. His voice echoed across the void. "Still chasing light… even when it burns."
He extended his hand. From the darkness, dozens of shadowed figures emerged — specters of fallen heroes, consumed by the Abyss. Their armor was cracked, their faces blank.
"Prepare the Gate," Adrian commanded. "Let them come."
The specters bowed and vanished into mist.
He looked up at the storm raging above him, feeling the pulse of the world — and the faint flicker of Arthur's light approaching.
A faint smile crossed his lips.
"Come find me, old friend. Let's finish what fate began."
---
Back in Berlin, the heroes pressed on. They crossed broken highways and silent cities swallowed by the Abyss, their path lit only by the faint glow of Clarent. Each night, the darkness pressed closer, whispering things — memories, regrets, temptations.
One night, as they camped near the ruins of an old cathedral, Luna found Arthur alone, staring at the stars — or what was left of them.
"You can't save him, you know," she said softly. "Not anymore."
Arthur didn't look away from the sky. "I don't need to save him. I just need to reach him."
Luna frowned. "And if he kills you?"
"Then I'll die trying."
She sighed, sitting beside him. "You always were the stubborn one."
Arthur smiled faintly. "Someone has to be."
For a while, neither spoke. The corrupted wind howled through the ruins.
Then, Luna turned to him. "You think he still remembers us?"
Arthur's eyes darkened. "He remembers everything. That's what makes it hurt."
---
By dawn, they reached the Abyssal Frontier — the final border between the mortal world and the heart of Adrian's corruption.
A vast chasm split the earth, filled with swirling shadows and glowing runes. The air vibrated like a living thing, every breath tasting of iron and blood.
"This is it," Nikolai said quietly. "Beyond this… there's no turning back."
Arthur looked into the abyss, his reflection staring back — distorted, trembling.
He raised his sword and planted it into the ground. The blade's glow flared, forming a bridge of light across the chasm.
"Then forward," he said. "For the world. For the fallen."
One by one, they stepped onto the bridge.
As they crossed, voices rose from below — the echoes of the dead, the cries of those who had been consumed. The bridge trembled under their feet.
But Arthur never looked down. His gaze was fixed on the massive black fortress looming ahead — the Citadel of the Abyss, where Adrian awaited.
The light flickered behind them.
The path home disappeared.
There was only forward now.
And somewhere beyond the veil of darkness, Adrian opened his eyes once more.
He whispered, almost tenderly,
"Welcome back, Arthur."